


Step in Time

by DragonSenpai



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-07
Updated: 2014-06-25
Packaged: 2018-02-03 17:02:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1752131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonSenpai/pseuds/DragonSenpai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean Kirstein doesn't like people, which is just fine because people don't like him. However, Jean is forced to overcome this when he joins the high school marching band. While struggling to keep up with the demands of the art, he meets the obnoxious Eren Jager, the beautiful Mikasa Ackerman, the kind Armin Artlert, and of course, the wonderful Marco Bodt. With his new friends in tow, Jean must learn to overcome his past and help the marching band become its very best. In the end, everything is just... well... supercalifragilisticexpialidocious.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rule #1 of Marching Band: Bring a fuck ton of water

**Author's Note:**

> Ahhh this is my first multichapter fanfiction guys! Aaaand my first fic for snk. I hope everybody likes it! I'm going to try to update every week. As of right now, the only pairing in here is JeanMarco, but there will probably be more later on. I'm not in marching band, but I have a lot of friends who are. Either way, if there is anything to correct, please let me know! Any and all comments are much appreciated~

     Jean Kirstein was never the type to “fall in love” or “date” or “socialize”. He was never one to question the placement of un-needed quotation marks either, because, fuck grammar, he’ll put quotation marks where ever the hell he wanted. Jean Kirstein wasn’t the type to do a lot of things except sleep, eat, and play video games completely alone in his room. Everybody at school knew this. Everybody. So of course gossip spread like wildfire when the infamous antisocial Mr. Kirstein joined the school’s marching band because 1.) not only did this force him to interact with other students but also 2.) Jean is far from being in the band nerd clique. Everybody knew this was out of character for Jean, even Jean himself.

     On his first day of band camp, after he was practically dragged there against his will by his surprisingly strong grandmother, he sat at the very top of the bleachers- as far away from everybody else as he could get. Nobody questioned it, and they all sat on the bottom bleachers like normal. When band director began his speech of his goals and expectations from the group, Jean didn’t pay attention. His thoughts wandered far from “getting to know your band members” and more towards the fact that It was hot as balls outside and wondering why was he even there. He could be in his room, in his nice, cool, air conditioned room with no lights except for the television screen and the green glow of his Xbox.

     Other band members looked back at Jean and shook their heads. The idiot was wearing jeans. Any band member with common sense knew that that was basically a death sentence. One trumpet player, Eren, snickered and began making bets with the others on how long it would be until Kirstein passed out. He didn’t even have anything with him- just one measly water bottle that was already halfway finished. That sucker was weak. Eren gave him three hours. His adopted sister, Mikasa, gave him four. A bari saxophone player, Reiner, gave him two.

     “So what do you think, Armin?” Eren asked his best friend. “Do you want to make a bet?” Armin, who had been listening to their conversation, shook his head.

     “Aren’t you guys a little worried for him?” he asked. “It is really hot today… it’s not healthy… Maybe I can offer him some of my water…”

     Eren rolled his eyes. “It’s his own stupid fault for not coming prepared.”

     “You’ll need your water later, Armin,” Mikasa spoke up, her voice monotone like always. “Don’t sacrifice it just to be a hero.”

     Armin ignored them and grabbed another bottle of water from his bag. He didn't answer Eren’s questioning and made his way up the bleachers to Jean. Jean, sensing motion, quickly looked down at Armin, who smiled nervously. What could this kid want with him?

     “U-um… hi. Jean, right?” Armin asked. “I noticed you didn’t have a lot of water with you so I came to offer you another bottle.”

     Jean glanced over Armin. The kid looked pretty weak and pale… that stutter didn’t help either. In truth, he really did need another water. He was beginning to realize that now as the sun caused all the water in his system to sweat out of him. “Get lost,” was his only reply.

     Typically when Jean told somebody to leave, they did so immediately and without question. Maybe it was the way he said it, or perhaps the cold glare in his eyes. That’s what Jean told himself, but he knew the truth. He knew why everybody avoided him- not that he could blame them, of course. Armin, however, didn’t move a muscle.

     “At least take the water,” he insisted. “I know you were never in marching band before, but trust me, you’ll need it.”

     Jean raised his eyebrow at the kid. “And you’ll need it, too. Don’t be an idiot and waste it on other people.”

     “O-oh, I have more.” Armin sat down next next to Jean and offered the water yet again. Jean refused. “You know,” Armin continued, trying to start a conversation, “you really shouldn’t wear jeans either… You’ll get a rash.” He paused, as if waiting for Jean to respond. He didn’t. “That happened to Connie once- he’s that kid over there with the clarinet- and he just kept complaining about it all day. Really Sasha and I told him not to wear jean shorts and I offered to let him borrow a pair of mine- my other shorts I mean- but he refused. And then during the lunch break he-”

     “Why the hell are you talking to me,” Jean interrupted. His voice was filled with annoyance and contempt, but his face showed confusion.

     Armin quit speaking and was silent for a moment. He thought about it before replying, “You seemed lonely.”

     Now if anybody asked Jean, he would told you that he was perfectly happy being alone. After all, people tended to be afraid of him and he of people. It worked out better if he just avoided everyone and vice versa. He was happy to be alone. Perfectly content. He didn’t need anybody. He was about to speak up when one of the band directors, Erwin, ordered everybody onto the field to begin basics.

 

 

{ ~ * ~ }

 

     Jean felt like an idiot. They were all organized into one evenly separated block. Jean was just oh so lucky enough to be put right in the middle, surrounded by people. A short girl next to him, Jean noticed, tried to step aside without the band director seeing. Jean ignored her and stayed silent as he began to march in place. This felt like prison.

     It didn’t take long for Jean to regret not bringing more water because, oh God, it was hot. And fuck, he was sweating like a pig. He never sweated like that in his life. Sweat gathered under his arms and on his chest and back. It gathered on his forehead and rolled down his temples. His throat and mouth were so dry, he felt like he was in the middle of a desert. And don’t even talk to him about his legs because that blond kid was right. Jeans were his worst enemy. Jean didn’t complain, though, and simply gritted his teeth, clenched his jaw, and continued marching.

     Soon, it was time to find their spots on the field, and everybody was told to run out to their designated positions. Jean wiped the sweat from his forehead and turned around. He ran as fast as he could- he would take any excuse to get away from everyone, even if it was just a little bit more space. When he made it to his spot, he was in line with the other snare percussionists like himself. There was a total of six of them, he noticed. He knew a couple of them from class- Annie and Ymir.Jean was positive they were both insane, but he'd never tell them that, because he knew they could both kick his ass. Besides, people would agree that he was insane as well, so he guessed they all belonged in this group along with him.

    In their new spots, everybody began marching again, following the orders of Erwin and the short, snearing man at his side. They went over their basic footsteps again, which Jean stumbled over a little bit, trying to keep up with the commands. Soon, they were told to run to new spots. Jean didn't comment, simply wiping the sweat off his brow and turning to run...

     …when suddenly, everything around him seemed kind of… fuzzy...the world around him spun… and then nothing. Everything was black.

     “ Hey, losers!” Reiner yelled out. “Looks like somebody owes me twenty bucks!"

 

{ ~ * ~ }

 

_"Jean Kirstein!" his grandmother called called the living room. "You get off that gaming contraption of yours right this instant and come eat dinner!"_

_Jean sighed and muttered a couple complaints under his breath before saving and pausing his game. Planning to bring his dinner up to his room like always, he quickly went downstairs as if the bright, artificial lights in the rest of the house would burn him alive. He ran into the kitchen, grabbed his plate, and turned around to run back to his room. "Hold it right there, young man." Jean's grandfather stood in his way. Of course. His grandfather, Pierre, crossed his arms and smiled at Jean, as if he was proud at himself for capturing his grandson. Jean scowled._

_"You are eating with your grandmother and myself tonight. We need to 'ave a little talk." Having lived in France most of his life, Jean's grandfather never did lose his accent._

_Jean groaned. "Oh God. What? Are you sending me to military school?"_

_"No."_

_"Did some random cousin in France pass away?" "_

_Oh no no, your cousin Jacque is perfectly fine."_

_"Then what?"_

_At this moment, Jean's grandmother walked into the room and announced with a sing-song voice, "We want to talk about your future!"_

_Jean wished they were sending him to summer camp._

 

{ ~ * ~ }

 

     He blinked, but the light blinded him. He closed his eyes and let out a small groan. Somebody moved. He could hear the fabric of their clothing.

     “Oh…!” come an unfamiliar voice. “I think he’s awake now.”

     More shuffling. Footsteps. A gentle female voice. “Sweetie? Can you hear me?”

     Jean blinked again and slowly turned his head towards the direction of the voices, squinting through the light. He was vaguely aware that he was laying down. He felt paper crinkle underneath him. Where was he? Finally, when the light didn’t seem as bright, Jean could make out a concerned face in front of him. A older woman with her black, graying hair and dark skin stared at him, concerned.

      “...Who… Where…?” Jean struggled to get those words out of his mouth. His tongue felt thick. His mouth was dry.

     “You’re in the nurse’s office, Sweet Cheeks,” the woman replied. “You passed out on the field.”

     Jean slowly sat up and looked down. Yep. He was laying on the little bed they kept in the school’s nurse’s office. “Well fuck…” he murmured.

     The nurse cleared her throat. “Here, drink this,” she said, handing him a cup of ice water. “All of it. But drink it slowly, understand?”

     Jean nodded and took the cup, taking a small sip. Holy god mary jesus, was it refreshing. “Yessir,” the nurse chatted away, “you sure were lucky that this gentleman was able to get you over here. Did you carry him all by yourself? You must be pretty strong, boy. Although the kid does seem pretty light. All skin and bones he is.”

     Jean realized the nurse was no longer talking to him and looked up over by the door. There stood a student that Jean faintly recognized. He was new to the school. He came late into the last school year, towards the end of April. He had seen the face in the hallway a few times, laughing and joking with his newly made friends. Right now his dark hair was slightly damp from sweat and the light seemed to reflect off the perspiration covering his freckles. God, the kid had a lot of freckles. They covered his face and arms. If you squinted, they all blended together and just looked liked a really dark tan.

     The kid smiled politely at the nurse. “It was no trouble, miss” he told her. “I’m just glad to help.”

     Jean rolled his eyes and snorted. This kid was a total suck up. The noise caused the boy to look over at Jean, his smile vanishing. He looked at him… no… studied him. Jean raised an eyebrow, admittedly a little uncomfortable.

     “What?” he asked. “Is there stuff on my face or something?”

     The boy seemed surprised at Jean’s response, but he quickly covered it up with a smile. “Oh nothing, nothing!” he assured him. “Ah… how are you feeling?”

     Now it was Jean’s turn to look at the boy. Did he really care how he felt? Jean bet that he didn’t. He probably only asked so he seemed like he cared. Over the years, Jean has learned that nobody is truly that kind. They normally just fake it so others think they’re nice people. After a moment, Jean mumbled, “Fine.”

     The boy smiled. “Great! I was pretty nervous… I mean, people have passed out due to the heat before, but never that early into practice. It’s not even that hot out yet. It’s supposed to be even hotter later in the afternoon.”

     “So you’re saying I shouldn’t risk my health and go back out there?” Jean asked. “Works for me.” With that, he stretched and layed back down.

     “That’s not what I was saying…” the boy answered, “but I guess you shouldn’t strain yourself if you think you’ll pass out again. Even though it’ll make Levi furious… but I’ll talk to him if you want!”

     Levi… Levi… Oh, that’s right. Levi was the short, bossy guy who helped direct the band with Erwin. “Do what ever you want. I don’t give a shit if he’s furious or not.” The nurse cleared her throat, louder this time, at Jean’s answer. Jean rolled his eyes.

     “Well...if you’re not coming, I guess I’ll tell him you’re still not well enough…” The kid sounded unsure. “Are you sure you’re alright?” Jean nodded. “Well, I guess I’ll see you later then!”

     Jean stared at the freckled boy for a moment before speaking up quietly. “Yeah and, uh, thank you… um…”

     “Marco.”

     “Thank you, Marco.”

     At those words, Marco smiled brightly, replied with “Not a problem, Jean,” and left the room.

 

{ ~ * ~ }

 

_Jean frowned as he looked down at his food. He pushed his green beans over to one side of his plate- he absolutely hated green beans._

_It was quiet at the dinner table for a while before his grandfather cleared his throat and spoke up. "We're worried about your health," he said._

_Jean rolled his eyes_ _. "I'm not eating the green beans."_

_"We're not talking about the green beans," replied his grandmother. "We're talking about your mental health."_ _At this, Jean raised an eyebrow questioningly. "It's just... you're alone so often, and you don't invite any friends over... why is that?"_

_'Because everybody at school if afraid of me?' Jean thought. 'Because every time I walk into a room, people avoid me like the plague?' He shrugged._

_"_ _Well," he grandfather spoke with a mouth full of ham, "we decided that you need to get out more and make some friends. So you're joining the high school's marching band."_

_Jean almost spit out the water that he was drinking. "What?!" he shouted. "You can't just decide that for me! I won't do it! No way!" He almost shuddered at the thought of wearing those ugly uniforms and marching in parades._

_"Please, dear?" asked his grandmother. "It's a lot of fun I've heard! Plenty of people to talk to as well."_

_"No way."_

_S_ _he ignored him. "You know... Joan... she was in marching band."_

_Jean stiffened as he frowned a little bit. "Gran..." he spoke quietly. 'Please don't,' he thought. 'Not now. Or ever really.'_

_"_ _She was so happy! We used to go to all of her competitions, didn't we Pierre? She was the greatest flute player out on the field."_

_Jean felt sick. He didn't want to listen to this. He didn't want to hear about her. "Gran, you don't have to-"_

_"And she had so much fun, too! It was all she ever talked about. And each time she spoke of it, there was this huge smile on her face and... and...." Her voice began to shake. She was missing her. And through missing her, she was beginning to think of him._

_"Gran!" Jean interrupted. He had had enough. "Gran, ok. I'll do it, alright? I'll join the band just don't.... just.... I'll just do it, ok?"_

_His grandmother smiled gently and took his hand in both of hers. It was her way of comforting him- of comforting herself. "She'd be so pleased, Jean. So, so pleased. I'm sure you'll make as many friends as she did."_

 

_Pft, yeah right. That will never happen._


	2. Rule Number Two of Marching Band: don't kill the other band members

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chapter in which Jean learns a little bit more about the complexities of marching band culture, almost gets into a fight, and maybe, possibly, sorta kinda makes a friend? Maybe?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gah, I hate that I make these chapters so short but oh well. I wouldn't be able to post them weekly other wise. Either way, enjoy!~

_Jean felt sick. His heart was pounding, his breath was ragged, his hands were sweating, and his vision was unfocused._

_No. No, he shouldn’t be there. He didn’t have to be there. He didn’t want to be there._

_He couldn’t help it. He ran over to the trash can and puked._

_After emptying out his stomach, Jean stood up straight and wiped his mouth. He still felt nauseous, but his stomach was empty. Now it was just the unbearable churning that he could do nothing about. He looked over at the door he was told to walk through a few minutes ago. On the other side was the room where he would see him again. Nothing but a wall of glass would separate them, and he would hear his voice through a telephone._

_A hand touched Jean’s shoulder causing him to jump._

_“I’ll be right here waiting for you,” Pierre stated, trying to give Jean a comforting smile. Jean could see past the smile, though. He could see the same hatred and pain that was inside himself at that same moment._

_Jean looked at his grandfather for a moment then nodded, determined. He had to see him. He had to tell him what was on his mind. He turned around and slowly opened the door, walking over to the designated seat. He sat down._

 

{~ * ~ }

 

     When Jean stepped back outside, he almost regretted it. Marco was right- it was even hotter now than it was before. He made his way back over to the field where he saw all the band members separated into small groups, sitting either on the bleachers or on the grass. It was their lunch break.

     Deciding that now would be a good time to just go and sit alone again, Jean went to go find a secluded spot, perhaps in a bit of shade. However, it was at that moment that he heard somebody shout his name.

     “Jean! Hey, Jean!”

     Turning around, Jean was surprised to see the blond kid from before running up to him- smiling even. He was slightly out of breath by the time he reached him.

     “How are you feeling?” he asked.

     “...Fine?” Why was he asking?

     “Better then? Great!” Armin smiled at him. “So, um, hey. Would you like to come have lunch with me and my friends? I’ll introduce you to everybody.”

     Jean turned around and began walking away with a “No thanks.”

     “But Jean-!”

     “No.”

     Armin didn’t push him any farther, knowing it was a lost cause. Instead of following Jean, he simply went back over to his friends and sat back down. Jean noticed the other boy, the one with the dark hair and trumpet, was glaring at him.

    "I don't get why you're trying to befriend him, Armin," the boy said. "He doesn't care, so why should you?"

   Jean frowned a little and turned around again.

    It's not that he didn't care about people- in fact, he cared immensely about people. However, it was his care that, in a way, caused him to avoid everyone at all costs. He was afraid. He was afraid that he would mess something up. He was afraid to really hurt somebody. He was afraid that he would somehow gain somebody's trust and break it.

    "Besides," the boy continued, "you know about his parents, don't you? He-"

    But he was cut short when suddenly a fist appeared and grabbed his shirt, lifting him up in the air.

    "You say one more word, punk," Jean hissed. "I dare you."

    It seemed like everything around them quieted down. All the chit chat in the other groups became silent. Everybody turned their heads to look at the scene. Was... Jean Kirstein picking a fight with Eren Jäger?

    Eren scowled at him, but stayed silent. It looked like Jean was going to yell something else when suddenly, Reiner walked up followed by.... Marco?

    "Woah, woah, woah," Reiner said as he walked up. "Let's calm down here, boys. We all know the rules. No fighting other band members, come on."

    "Tell that to this dipshit!" Eren shouted before Jean dropped him. "He started it!"

    Jean scowled at him. "How about next time you don't talk about people behind their back!?"

    "I wasn't even talking about you! I was talking about your-"

    "SHUT UP!"

    At that, Jean lunged towards Eren again, but was stopped when somebody jumped in front of him, holding him back. Mikasa grabbed Eren and pulled him away. They were followed by a nervous looking Armin. Jean was so focused on them, he didn't even notice Marco, the person who had stopped him, talking.

    "Jean. _Jean_. Come on," he said, "let's take a walk and calm down, alright?"

    Surprisingly, Jean didn't argue.

 

{ ~ * ~ }

 

_To be honest, Marco didn't even notice Jean until the moment he passed out on the field. After all, Jean tried to make it so he wasn't noticed, and it wasn't like Marco was looking for him. He was too busy talking to his friends, cracking jokes, and having an epic battle of the instruments (which he won, by the way, when he played Bohemian Rhapsody on his saxophone, causing nearby members to stop what they were doing and sing along- it was awesome)._

_It wasn't until basics that Marco even noticed the school's social outcast. He heard somebody shout and quickly turned around from his spot on the field. What he saw was Jean laying on the ground._

_He quickly ran over to see what he could do, along with Levi (although he didn't run so much as walk)._

_"Tch," Levi went once he saw the sight. "There's always one every year. Bodt."_

_"Y-yes, sir?" Marco questioned, looking up from Jean._

_"Take Kirstein to the nurse's office. He looks light enough to carry."_

_Marco nodded and lifted Jean up, bringing Jean's arm around his shoulders to support him, wrapping his own arm around Jean's waist as well. He heard whispers around him._

_"I hope he'll be alright."_

_"Yeah, he shouldn't be with him by himself."_

_"Why don't you go help him then?"_

_"Hell no! I'm not getting anywhere near that basket case."_

_Marco frowned a little when he realized these people weren't concerned for Jean, but for Marco. They were afraid to even get near the other boy. The whispers continued._

_"Marco wasn't here when it happened, was he?"_

_"What? With the Kirsteins? No, I don't think he knows."_

_Around then, one of Marco's friends, Connie, come over._

_"Hey, man, be careful alright?" he said._

_Confused, Marco just nodded and carried Jean inside._

 

{ ~ * ~ }

 

    Now that the band members were eating lunch near the bleachers, the field was pretty much clear for Jean and Marco to walk. One could say that Marco lead Jean away from the others, but then One would be lying. The truth was, Jean, after hearing Marco's suggestion, basically stormed off. Marco quickly followed him.

    They walked around half of the field in silence. The silence made Marco a little uncomfortable, seeing that he was use to talking and joking around with whoever was near him. However, for Jean, the silence was welcomed. It gave him time to sort through the thoughts raging in his head without being distracted by outside voices. He was secretly grateful that Marco wasn't trying to strike up conversation, although Jean could tell it was driving him insane.

    "Look," Jean finally spoke up, "you don't have to follow me like a goddamn dog. Go eat lunch."

    Marco jumped a little at the sudden noise then smiled sheepishly. "I, uh, forgot my lunch today actually." He laughed awkwardly. "But either way, I want to walk with you!"

    Jean didn't know how to respond to that last comment, so he didn’t. "You'll pass out of you don't eat something. Don't be an idiot like me. God knows we don't need to send another person to the nurse."

    Marco just shrugged and paused. "So um... if you don't mind me asking...."

    "I do."

    "You don't even know my question!"

    Jean glared at him. "You're going to ask me why I'm so mad. What did that kid-"

    "Eren."

    "Don't care. What did that kid say that caused me to basically attack him? Well here's your answer- it's none of your damn business. I'm honestly surprised you don't already know." Marco kept his eyes on Jean as he spoke. "And honestly, if you really wanted to know I'm sure you can just ask anybody here."

    Marco was silent for a while, digesting what Jean had said. Something that could upset him so much.... it was common knowledge around the school? That didn't seem right... It must be a personal matter, right?

    "But it's none of my business," Marco responded.

    Shocked, Jean stopped walking and turned to face Marco, his face no longer set in a scowl. "...What?"

    "It's your own life and your privacy. If you don't want me to know, it wouldn't be very nice to go around asking, would it?" Marco gave Jean a small smile.

    Jean couldn't believe what he was hearing. "You don't want to know?"

    "No," Marco responded, "I do. But if you don't want me to know then I won't go snooping into your business. It's not right."

    It was silent for a couple moments as Jean started walking again. Marco followed. After a while, Jean spoke up again. "Thank you."

Marco smiled brighter, and suddenly, Jean found himself hating band camp just a little less.

 

{ ~ * ~ }

 

     “So you know how we solve conflicts here, don’t you?”

     After Jean and Marco returned from their walk, they were pulled over to the group by Reiner. He stood in the center of the small ensemble as he spoke.

     “Reiner,” Annie spoke up, her voice low and menacing (although that could just be Jean’s imagination), “nobody actually-”

     “A battle of the instruments!” Reiner interrupted. “It’s the only band nerd way!”

     The group cheered, except for Jean that is. Having a battle of the instruments was one of the most popular things the band members enjoyed doing. Typically, it wasted some time, but the directors never argued since it was an effective way to solve any conflicts.

     “What the fuck is that?” Jean asked. Reiner happily explained.

     “The rules are simple,” he said. “Each participant plays a piece on their own instrument. Once one person plays, the other tries to one up them. It keeps going back and forth until the audience votes for the winner.”

     “Yeah, no thank you,” Jean said, turning around to walk away again, but he was stopped when Reiner put his hand on Jean’s shoulder.

     “Oh Jean, Jean, Jean,” he said, laughing. The laughter quickly went away, however, when he continued, deadly serious. “You don’t have a choice.”

**  
...**

     It only took a minute for Eren to grab his trumpet and meet Jean over by the pit, where Jean had situated himself at a snare drum. The rest of the band, it seemed, followed behind Eren eagerly, excited for the show. Jean rolled his eyes and twirled his drumstick in his hand. Although he was at a clear disadvantage- being a percussionist and all and up against a trumpet player- Jean had a good feeling he could win this thing. True, this was his first year in band, but he did have a drum set at home that he used to play on when he was younger. He was good, and he knew it.

     He considered the victory basically his when Eren raised the trumpet to his lips and played a scale- very slowly and squeakily. It almost made him laugh. But then, Eren lowered his trumpet, smirked at Jean, took a breath, and began to play.

     Super. Fucking. Mario. Brothers.

     Jean’s jaw dropped as he watched Eren play the piece almost flawlessly- he had to admit, that took talent. The crowd cheered and he could tell Eren was enjoying every minute.

     But Jean couldn’t let him have the satisfaction.

     He interrupted Eren’s solo when he paused to take a breath. Since Jean couldn’t play anything the crowd would recognize, he knew he had to put all his efforts into his presentation.

     Now it was Eren’s turn to be astonished when Jean played so quickly, his hands seemed like a blur. But that wasn’t the most impressive part. What really had the crowd cheering was when Jean twirled the drum stick in the middle of playing, even tossing it up in the air at one point.

     He got so into it, that he didn’t even stop when Eren began to play again, still determined to win. Eren continued to play the Super Mario Brother’s theme while Jean did his own thing. What they didn’t realize as they competed, however, was how the two seemed to merge together into one duet, one song. It made the other members cheer louder. It was strange, yet beautiful, they thought, that two people who seemed to hate each other could come together and play something so unique and amazing. Sure, maybe they will still hate each other when the performance was over, but man, they had some serious chemistry on their instruments.

     Eventually, the song ended and there was a small applause. Reiner stepped forward between the two and announced that it was time to vote. Mikasa voted first, followed by Armin, Annie, Connie, et cetera et cetera.

     “I vote Eren.”

     “Eren.”

     “Jean.”

     “Eren.”

     “Jean.”

     “Jean.”

     “Eren.”

     “Jean.”

     Reiner turned to Marco. “Alright man,” he said, “it’s up to you. That’s four for Eren and four for Jean. Who will be the winner?”

     Marco glanced back and forth between Jean and Eren, thinking over his vote. The crowd seemed to wait with bated breath. Finally, Marco smiled slyly and answered. “Both.”

     “What?!”  Jean and Eren shouted at the same time.

     Reiner returned Marco’s smile and lifted Eren and Jean’s arms into the air as he announced “You heard him! It’s a tie!”

     The other band members applauded while Eren and Jean both scowled. However, when Reiner let go of their arms, Jean glanced at Eren and saw him now smiling and laughing with Mikasa and Armin. He had fun, Jean could tell. Even though he didn’t win, Eren had enjoyed playing and now he had his friends with him and that was all that mattered. Jean didn’t know what compelled him to do so, but he found himself looking over at Marco.

     Marco gave him a huge smile and an excited two thumbs up as if to say “Good job!”.

     Jean couldn’t help himself. A small smile broke out on his face as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahahaha so I promise I was planning on adding in color guard in this chapter but that sorta kinda didn't happen (sorry!). Also I sorta kinda BSd that ending so... *hides face in shame*   
> Either way, I hope you all enjoyed it! Thank you for the kudos and bookmarks from chapter one! Again, any and all comments are very much appreciated!


	3. Rule Number Three: treat your band members like family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surprisingly, marching band doesn't literally take up every single waking moment of a band member's life. Members do indeed have lives outside of marching band. What?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so this chapter is basically all fluff so enjoy!~ ( ˘ ³˘)♥

     If someone were to ask Jean what his ideal Sunday evening was, his reply would be as follows: he'd be in a dark room, a liter of Coke would be next to him, and he'd spend all day playing Call of Duty without any interruptions from his grandparents. Typically, that's what he aimed for. However, things always got in the way: 1.) he wasn't allowed to have a whole liter of soda to himself 2.) he doesn't actually own Call of Duty and 3.) his grandparents don't know what _privacy_ is.

      So, on this particular Sunday afternoon, Jean spent the day in a dark room playing Super Mario Brothers from the 80s and constantly yelling across the house to his grandparents.

      At least, that's how he planned to spend his day, until his phone vibrated next to him, lighting up with a notification.

 

**[1] One New Message**

**from: Marco (:**

**hey jean! reiner and bert wanted me to invite you to come to the movies with us. wanna come?**

     Jean's eyes widened at the message. It's been a while since he actually went to the movie theater. Typically he just pirated films off the computer. Nobody ever invited him to the theater, and he wasn't going to be the loser to go alone. And no, he wasn't going to go with his _grandparents_. Jean thought over his answer. He didn't really want to go... but if he went it should get his grandparents off his case about "making friends".

**To: Marco (:**

(he was going to have to remember to change that smiley face in his contacts later. Barf)

**sure. when? and what movie?**

 

**[1] One Mew Message**

**from: Marco (:**

**awesome! :D and in about 20 mins. We're seeing how to train your dragon 2!**

     Jean rolled his eyes at the response. Weren't they all a little too old to watch animated shows made for kids?

_No, Jean. You're never too old._

_Shut up, self._

__

     Jean, only in his boxers and tee shirt, got up and changed (meaning he put on some jeans and ran his fingers through his hair). He quickly grabbed his wallet and made his way downstairs, where he sprinted past his grandparents who were watching reruns of The Golden Girls on the TV. His grandmother's choice no doubt.

     "I'mgoingtothemovieswithsomepeoplefrommarchingbandokaybye!"

     "Hold it right there...!"

 

     Jean stopped midstep and sighed. So close. He was so close. His hand was literally on the door knob. Frowning a little, he turned around and faced his grandfather who was smiling.

 

     "Now who are you going to the movies with?" he asked.

     "I told you," Jean responded. "Some other marching band members. Marco, Reiner, and Bert."

     "Hear that, Clarisse?" Pierre exclaimed to his wife. "Our grandson, Anti-social McAlone Pants, actually made friends!"

     ... _McAlone Pants?_

 

{ ~ * ~ }

 

_"Hey, um, Jean..."_

_Jean stopped walking up the bleachers and turned around. There, right behind him, was Eren. The group had dispersed after the "battle" and everybody was loitering around the bleachers as they gathered their stuff before they left._

_"Uh... yeah?" Jean asked, frowning a little._

_Eren scratched the back of his neck and turned around. Jean followed his line of sight and saw Mikasa in the distance, gesturing him to go on. Eren turned back around and looked down. "Well... I just wanted to, uh.... apologize. It wasn't right of me to talk about... you know..." He looked up at Jean. "I'm sorry. I know what it's like to lose a parent and... I'm sorry, man." He held out his hand. "Truce?"_

_Jean stared at Eren's hand for a moment, letting the words sink in. Never has anybody expressed sympathy towards him... not since that day. But... it makes sense, in a way, for his one sympathizer to be Eren. Before Eren moved there in elementary school, his hometown was devastated by a terrible hurricane. Mikasa, Eren, and Eren's father all made it out alive but... Eren's mother... She was trapped in the house when it collapsed. The EMTs didn't find her until long after she died._

_"Yeah... Yeah of course," Jean finally responded, shaking Eren's hand. "I'm sorry too."_

_Eren smiled before taking his hand back. "Oh hey, can I see your phone? I'll put my number in it in case you want to like, hang out or something."_

_Jean nodded and the two swapped phones. However, this caught the attention of other band members close by._

_"Oh! We're swapping numbers?"_

_"Let me put my number in Jean's phone!"_

_"Hey! Let me see!"_

_A small group of people ran over, much to Jean's surprise, including Armin, Mikasa, Sasha, Connie, Reiner, Bertoldt, and Marco. Before he realized what was happening, everybody was trading phones and typing numbers, Jean included. He didn't even know who's phones he was putting his number in (or who was putting their number in his phone for that matter)._

_Eventually, however, he got his phone back with a few "Text me sometime"s or "We should hang out"s. Marco, picking up his stuff, turned to Jean before leaving and smiled._

_"Seriously, Jean," he said, "you can talk to me whenever you want, okay?"_

      _Jean nodded. "Yeah... ok. Um, thanks again for uh... all your help and all."_

_"No problem!" Marco smiled brighter. "Oh, and seriously, good job in the battle today. You were great!" With these words, Marco patted Jean's shoulder before walking away with a "See ya!"_

 

 

 

 

     Jean took his grandmother's car to the theater and waited out front for the others to arrive. He had gotten there early and... well it seemed like they were running late. Jean glanced down at his phone again. Ten minutes late to be exact. They... they wouldn't...?

     Jean shook the thought from his head. No. He didn't really know Bert, but Reiner and Marco seemed too nice to just ditch somebody like that. They're just running late- he was sure of it.

     Another ten minutes passed and Jean was just about ready to leave. Maybe he was wrong about them. Maybe they were just assholes like everybody else. Jean scowled and began to walk away, when suddenly-

 

  _BEEP BEEP!_

 

     Jean whipped around and saw a battered old brown van speeding towards him. With a loud squeal of the brakes, the van jerked to a stop, causing the passengers to possibly, more than likely, suffer from a bit of whiplash. Looking through the windshield, Jean could see it was Reiner driving. In the passenger seat was Bertoldt, sweating a little (probably because Reiner's driving scared him so much), and in the back seat, also wide-eyed from fear, was Marco.

     "Yo! Kirstein!" Reiner shouted out the window. "You weren't planning on ditching us, were you?"

     Jean scowled. "Asshole! You're the one who showed up late!"

     Reiner laughed and Jean smiled a little. Bert and Marco took this opportunity to scramble out of the car. With Jean, the three of them bought tickets while Reiner parked the car.

     "I... I am sorry about being late..." Bertoldt spoke up quietly as they waited in line. "That was sort of my fault.... and, um, Reiner's."

     Marco laughed a little. "You guys were probably making out until I called and asked where you were."

     At this, Bert blushed furiously.

     "Making out?" Jean asked, raising an eyebrow. "What, are you two dating or something?"

     Bert nodded, the blush still present on his face. Marco smiled and spoke for him. "They've been together for... what? Five months now?"

     "Six," Bert corrected.

     "Oh yeah, that's right. Because you together a little before Christmas... Either way, they've been together for six months now!"

     Bert smiled a little bit at Marco before turning back to Jean, almost as if he was waiting for a reaction. Jean smiled a little.

     "That's great, man." Jean suddenly looked serious. "But if you two start making out in the theater, then I swear I'm kicking you both out of your seats."

     This cause Marco to laugh and Bert to chuckle nervously. Jean smiled a little to let him know he was joking.

     "But seriously," Jean continued. "Don't be that couple, alright? I'm begging you."

 

...

 

     "I can't believe they're being that couple..." Jean whispered to Marco as the movie played. "Seriously there are little kids in this here."

     Marco glanced over at the two who were indeed making out. Quite sloppily too. So tongue. Very saliva. Much gross. It was kinda awkward looking too, even sitting down, with how tall Bertoldt was compared to Reiner.

"Do they ever stop to _breath_?" Marco whispered back, seemingly concerned.

     "Dude, this is making me want to throw up all the popcorn I just ate."

     "Sh! They can hear us...!"

     "Well it's not stopping them now is it?"

     Marco laughed which caused an annoyed mother of two children behind them enough to go "Sh!" Jean turned around to face her.

     "Really? Seriously? You're shushing us when there's the tongue battle of the century happening right in front of your daughters?" he asked.

     Marco tapped Jean's arm to get his attention. "Hey, wanna go out to the lobby? It's not like we're going to watch the movie anyway."

     Jean turned to look at Marco then shrugged. They quickly got out of their seats and made their way back to the lobby.

 

{ ~ * ~ }

 

  _"Mama..."_

_Years ago, thirteen year old Jean walked up to his mother while his father was at work. His mother, Joan, a very docile and introverted woman, sat in a rocking chair in the living room, reading. Joan looked up._

_"What is it, dear?" she asked, putting her book down and sitting up._

_Jean shuffled his feet. "Can I talk to you about something?"_

_Joan smiled gently. "Of course. You know you can, baby. What's on your mind?"_

_Jean took a deep breath... then let it out and took another deep breath._

_'Come on,' he thought. 'You've practiced saying it. Come on!'_

_"I..."_

_Joan waited patiently._

_"Mama, I think.... No, um. I... like guys."_

_That's it. That's all Jean said. It's all he had to say. This was the secret that has been eating him up, and now it was out. He should be relieved._

_However, the look on his mother's face had the opposite effect. It wasn't the disgusted face he was dreading. No. It... it was fear. Her eyes were wide, not only with shock, but with terror. Her hands shook a little._

_"Oh, Jean..." she breathed._

_Jean began to shake a little as tears began to build up in his eyes. No. He wasn't going to cry. He wouldn't._

_Joan got up from her chair and made her way to her son. Wrapping her arms around him, she whispered, "It's ok, baby. That's fine. You're very brave for telling me. I'm happy for you." She pulled back a little and smiled at him, placing her hand gently on Jean's cheek. "But..." Jean frowned. "Let's not tell your father, alright?"_

_Jean looked at her. "Why not?"_

_Joan smiled again, but this time it was full of sadness.  "You know why."_

_At this, Jean nodded. He did know._

 

   { ~ * ~ }

 

 

 The lobby  of the theater did not only have refreshments, but a small arcade area as well. Jean remembered playing in that arcade when he was little. When his father was working, his mother would take Jean here with a bag full of quarters and let him play to his heart's content.

      "I wonder..." Jean whispered as he walked over to the arcade.

     "Wonder what?" Marco asked, following him.

     "Hold on. I just need to check something."

     Jean made his way over to the old fashion Pac-Man machine and pressed a few buttons until he was able to view the high scores.

     "When I was a kid," Jean explained, "I used to spend all my time playing this thing. I held the high score." He smirked at the thought. Nobody, not even years after he made the high score, was able to beat him. "I want to see if I'm still number one."

     However, when Jean looked at the score board, he saw himself- frenchfry69 (he was 11, leave him alone)- as number two.

     "No way!" Jean exclaimed, legitimately upset. "I was number one for years!"

     "Who's number one now?" Marco asked, peeking over his shoulder.

     Jean looked at the score board at number one. "Some kid called robodt14?"

     "...oh."

     "Oh?"

     "I know him."

     Jean's eyes widened. "What? Who is it?"

     Marco smirked a little at Jean. Jean shook his head.

     "No," Jean said. "No way."

      Marco broke out into a huge smile and pointed to himself. "Marco Bodt. Robodt. Get it?"

     Jean's jaw dropped and he quickly fished a quarter out of his pocket and put it in the machine. "Nope. No way in hell am I going to let myself stay defeated."

     Marco laughed. "Jean, it's just-"

     "Don't you dare say it's just a game, Marco Bodt," Jean interrupted. "Pac-Man is more than just a game. Pac-Man is life."

     At this, Jean put all of his attention into the game, biting his lip a little in concentration. Marco watched him, a small smile on his face. After a while, Jean lost his last life and groaned.

     "My Pac-Man skills appear to be a little rusty," he said.

     "Which mean I shall remain the supreme!"

     Jean hit Marco's arm and Marco laughed, jumping back a little. Marco then got more quarters from the change machine and the two took turns playing Pac-Man until they ran out if money. What they didn't realize, however, was that the movie had ended and Bertoldt and Reiner were watching them from the arcade's entrance.

     "I give them one month," Reiner predicted as he watched Jean push Marco, trying to get him to mess up. "What do you think?"

     "Two months," Bert replied.

     "Wanna bet on it?"

     They shook hands. The bet was made.

********  
  


 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cuties are cute and I love them all.  
> Ok so I had one of my writer friends read this (she actually wanted to? What?) and she isn't even in the fandom but is fangirling over the characters so yayyy! And by fangirling I mean pretending to make out with Reiner.  
> Also, fair warning, I might be putting some angst into the next chapter (and color guard maybe hopefully. I want Christa baby to come in)  
> also, I was just looking up emoticons to use and saw this one: |_・)  
> and I thought, oh hey! It's marco!  
> *hides in corner of shame*


End file.
